http://www.broadwaybaby.com/shows/richard-herring-happy-now/711023
His 20’s were a fist of fun, his
30’s spent deciphering the intricacies of Big Cook and Little Cook’s business
partnership, and then, oh fuck!, he was 40. Now, closing in on 50, he is
settling down. He is married, has been present at the birth of his first child,
and has managed to shake the majority of those pesky snooker podcast listeners.
But, the comedian Richard Herring asks himself, is he happy now? Is the moon on
a stick all it was cracked up to be?
Without any preamble, Herring is
straight into it, taking us through the events surrounding the birth of his
daughter, Phoebe. What initially sets us to be a very narrative-driven show
soon takes an unexpected turn. His wife, nine months pregnant, has started
having contractions. Richard is prepared. He takes her to the bath, goes
downstairs to get a glass of water, neatly sidesteps the cat litter box and
heads back upstairs to attend to the mother of his child. He then takes a
four-hour nap. At no point is this explained. He wakes hours later and travels with
his wife through early morning London in a taxi to the hospital. This sort of
odd, unprompted deviation from the expected course sets the tone for the show.
Though this technique is by no means unique to Herring’s work, it’s where he is
at his best, always trying to stay one step ahead (in some cases, a step
behind) of what the audience thinks is coming.
Like any comic, the years spent
crediting the voice in his head that asks ‘What if...’ have made it second
nature for Herring to listen to what it has to say. But this sort of
hypothetical thinking is only useful in fatherhood up to a point. In any
situation he cannot help but imagine the absolute worst possible act to
endanger his child – hilarious for the audience, not so hilarious for the new
dad. Herring’s overly analytic inner monologue is a hallmark of his standup; he
keeps it fresh by not over-indulging in it or allowing it to develop into some
sort of neurotic caricature. It pays dividends again when laying out the finer
points of his Marmite/Stewart Lee/Twix analogy, another highlight.
Anyone familiar with his other
work – his podcasts, his former double-act, his newspaper pieces,
snooker-playing, etc. – will be familiar with Herring playing the role of the
fool, the fall-guy. He is happy to take the backseat as an interviewer, happy
to be the butt of the joke in his weekly column. Herring the standup is a
different beast. He is more measured and authoritative – at all points he is in
control of the gig. And he has to be too, because there is a lot of material to
get through; he’s on stage just shy of two hours. There is a sense perhaps that
the show could benefit from being let breathe. Set pieces like the one on his
in-laws’ new doormat would really flourish given a bit more space. However, that
would mean having to drop some material and this is where he would hit a
problem. There were a few lines here and there that felt a little bit laboured
but nothing felt like filler and anyone would be reluctant to drop any
sections.
The conclusion, if you can call
it that, Herring comes to on the question of happiness is not the kind of
self-help book platitude you might expect from other comics. He has always
looked for answers to the big questions – death, religion, Hitler – and he
treats happiness, domestic happiness in particular, in no less serious terms.
Like his life in general, he has had to reposition his thoughts on these
questions, summing up that happiness is only ever a fleeting experience and
should be appreciated all the more for being so.
The pram in the hallway has not
diminished Herring by any means. In fact, it seems to have reinvigorated his
act, with his domestic life now a foil to his onstage persona and the source of
much material. He is not the first comic to have stumbled across this fact and
he won’t be the last. Hopefully, the next comic to base their show around the
birth of their first child can produce a show of comparable quality.
